


My Old Dad Says.

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By MJ.On the road to Bindbale, where more surprises await.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	My Old Dad Says.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I have merely borrowed them for these adventures and will never make a cent from them.  
>  Feedback: Would be wonderful!  
>  Story Notes: This follows ["At the Sign of the Dancing Maiden"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320471).

"Oh, dearest Sam, please! I'm tired, I'm hot, I'm thirsty... Just five minutes?" For good measure, Frodo heaved a deep sigh, barely able to hide his grin. When he used to traipse round the Shire with Bilbo in his long ago youth, that sad little whine never failed to win him at least fifteen minutes of sitting and refreshing. 

"Five minutes again? Oh, that'll never do, that won't." Sam stopped in the center of the road and eyed Frodo's panting figure. "We stopped for five minutes barely five minutes back. And my old Dad says even the bottom of the barrel tastes prime if your back's sunk deep enough into the harness." A cocky grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And if you'll pardon me for sayin' so, you've been strollin' up and down the hedgerows for so long, you've forgot what it's like on a good stiff walk." 

Frodo drew in a deep breath and blew it out with a laugh, stretching his shoulders as well as he was able under his pack. "Save your breath, Sam. I admit to all of that and more. But I'm tired and my throat is parched. Surely we're near Bindbale by now. As Bilbo used to say, any barrel in a storm." 

"Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Frodo, sir, that he did, sir." Sam winked and slipped his fingers under the straps of Frodo's pack, easing the shoulders beneath. "But I think that was mostly when the S.B.'s came to visit." 

Frodo couldn't help but laugh and Sam grabbed his arm as the pack swayed too far to one side. "Harness and barrels, Sam Gamgee..." Frodo caught his breath and lifted one hand to tuck a stray curl behind Sam's ear. "Why did I never think... But no, I'm ready now." He straightened as much as he could, assuming one of Bilbo's do-or-die expressions. "Though fagged I may be, I am fair in the harness and shall do my best to keep up." 

Sam gave a low chuckle. "I've no doubts there..." He grinned and pointed his thumb up the little hill they'd begun to climb. "It's only a mile or so after we get over the top. Then it's a barrel apiece or I'll find out why." 

"Then lead on, my fair Sam, lead on." Frodo could barely keep the laughter from his voice. "Bindbale shall rue the day we set foot amongst its merry kegs or my name isn't Milo Proudfoot!" 

Sam gave a shout and grabbed Frodo's hand, pulling him up the hill. "By all that's green and growin', I wondered who that was in my bed. If you see Mr. Frodo, tell him I miss him right smart!" 

And over the last hill they marched, arm in arm, laughing under the late afternoon sun. 

Once on the other side, they could clearly see a good deal of the northernmost downs, rolling in gentle humps from east to west. The air was sweet and fresh with the scent of fir and pine and as Frodo lifted his eyes to the gently waving branches, he knew that the last few days had been the most perfect he'd ever known. Today, he and Sam had sung and talked and laughed as if nothing in the world could matter but their own happiness. And that was, of course, the heart of the matter: their own happiness, with or without the favor of those in their lives who considered such a thing bounded by their own opinions. 

Frodo could hardly think of Sam without his heart beating a little faster. And whether his eyes were open or closed, he knew exactly where Sam was at all times. He had pinched himself twice that afternoon alone, to prove it wasn't all just a dream. Breathing deeply of the heady scent all around them, he glanced once more at the young hobbit walking at his side. No, this wasn't a dream. Just his own dear Sam, tousled curls blowing in the breeze, his open face smiling straight at life with no need for apology or discussion. 

Frodo pushed his arm a little closer under Sam's and wove their fingers together. All that was needed to make the day complete was a hot meal, a deep drink, and a large, comfortable bed. 

"Here we are, all right and tight." Sam paused and turned quickly to kiss Frodo softly on the lips before letting go of his hand. "Your very own rest stop!" 

Frodo made a face, then stood for a moment, allowing his memory to catch up. Just ahead, tucked into a broad valley between two downs, was their destination, the little village of Bindbale. Not much in the way of size or importance, it was, however, the farthest north one could travel in the Shire and still find an inn with the comforts of home. In this case, the establishment in question was The Gaffer's Pint, a small but homely place, most of which was set back into the downs, while leaving part of the taproom and a modest but shady porch to front the road. Frodo had only been inside a handful of times, mostly with Bilbo and a young Sam, when they'd gone walking far along the outer reaches of the Shire, but he still remembered the innkeeper and his jolly wife, as well as what had seemed to be a wagonload of offspring. But his last visit had been many years before and he doubted anyone would remember a silly young hobbit now. 

Into the yard they tramped, the dappled shadows from a great maple chasing each other across their faces. It was much cooler than the road and they dropped their packs with sighs of relief onto the broad wooden bench beneath the leafy canopy. 

"Do you remember the stew they had last time we were here?" Sam squeezed his eyes shut and patted his stomach. "Oh, that set me up fine, that did. Tried to tell my old Dad what was in it, but he never could get a right fix on it. I told him to add more beer. But all he did was say if I wanted to grow up to be Old Sam Gamgee, I should think less about beer and more about weedin' Mr. Bilbo's garden." He smiled at Frodo's laughter. "Never much for funnin', my old Dad." 

"Sam, lad, with you at my side, life will be anything but...hullo! What's this?" 

From out of nowhere, a streak of honey and giggles had flashed across the yard and attached itself to Sam, wrapping tiny arms around his leg and looking up with the deep trust it might have shown a favorite uncle. 

Sam staggered a moment, then looked down into a round, pink-cheeked face. "And just who are you, my little bobbin?" 

One pudgy thumb popped into the rosebud of a mouth as the little face puckered up in a shy smile. 

"Not much for words, I reckon." Sam patted the mop of curls scattered willy nilly over her head. "Haven't you got a dad or a mum? Come now, you can tell Ol' Sam..." 

At that moment, a grinning, ruddy-faced hobbit stepped out of the open front door, a large bowl of turnips clutched in his hands. 

"Ho, there! I see you've met my youngest. Always out seein' and doin', she is. Seems to like you!" He walked over and ruffled the child's hair. "Marigold's my little greeter. Now then, the name's Barrelknot and I expect you're wantin' a room, yes? Good. You just come make yourselves right at home. I'll have the missus..." He stopped and his brows drew together. "Now, hold on, hold on... Don't I know you?" His eyes narrowed as he clasped the bowl to his chest and stared at Frodo. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Baggins, isn't it? And one of old Gamgee's sons. Well, you just come right in and I'll set you up fine." His mouth popped open in a wide grin as he turned round and stepped back through the front door, calling loudly for 'Fanny!'. 

Down by Sam's knee, the chubby face looked up at Frodo and warbled, "Baggie." 

With a crow of laughter, Sam scooped up the giggling child, parking her on his hip. "Well, Mr. 'Baggie', if you're half as parched as I am, let's see whether we can dent one 'a Barrelknot's barrels together." He tossed the giggling Marigold up in the air, then parked her on his other hip. "After you." 

Frodo grinned and shook his head. "The wise before the fair, Master Samwise. Ceremony be damned." Still laughing, they stepped into the dim coolness of The Gaffer's Pint. 

Inside, all was neat and cozy. After sending Marigold off with a kiss and a gentle push, Sam led the way to to a small table near the fireplace. The only other inhabitant of the room was an elderly hobbit settled deep in a large armchair at one corner of the fire. Soft sounds of snoring drifted in their direction. 

As they pulled out their chairs and sat down, Barrelknot rushed over to the table, two brimming mugs held lightly in his hands. "Supper'll be ready in hardly a bit. It's my Fanny's winter stew, best around, it is. Oh, I can see by your faces you've had some and ain't forgot!" He winked. "It's even better than it used to be and that's no lie. Along 'a that, we've got bread new-made this afternoon, with sweet butter and plum jam, and if you've got room for after, there's a deep strawberry-rhubarb cobbler to round things off." He chuckled. "Well, now, since I don't hear any objections, I'll just go and make sure we got plates enough for the both of you." 

Frodo sat back in his chair and sighed. "I don't know, Sam. What with all of that walking, plus a fine meal like this... I'm afraid I'll fall sound asleep as soon as my head hits the pillows." 

Sam looked up at the ceiling, squinting a little as he followed the huge crossbeam with his eyes. "Well, then. I'll just have to make real sure your head don't never come near that pillow." He dropped his gaze to Frodo, his eyes full of all the things he was still learning to say, and whispered, "At least, not 'til I've had a chance to find out why the back of your thighs taste like honey..." 

A flush of heat spread through Frodo's gut and he clamped his mouth shut over words that would only have stammered between his teeth. A sip of beer, that's what he needed. Tipping the mug quickly, Frodo got a larger mouthful than he expected, managed to swallow most of it, and choked on the rest. 

Before Sam could hop out of his chair, a firm hand was tapping Frodo's back gently, while another had grasped his chin, tilting it high in the air. "Master Barrelknot's beer can take ya by surprise, laddie, that it can. You'll whistle just fine in a second." 

Frodo could see enough of the stranger's face to catch the twinkle in his eye. Off to his right, Sam was arguing that strangling poor Mr. Frodo wasn't going to do him any good and if Mr. Butt-Himself-In knew what was good, he'd just take his two hands back to that chair and mind his own business. 

Frodo tapped the fingers holding his chin, trying hard not to laugh. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Really." As the hand let go, he coughed a little, then turned to Sam, who was brandishing a piece of firewood and looking more than ready to use it. "No, Sam. It's alright. He was helping, really." 

Sam looked doubtful, but he lowered the firewood a little, still frowning at the stranger. 

The elderly hobbit stepped back to a small table near the fireplace and picked up his mug, then pulled a chair out from Frodo's table and sat down. A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "Sit down, lad. I'll not bite, despite what you think." He nodded, then tapped his mug. "It's Puddleby they call me, Perling Puddleby. I'd hoped to introduce myself with a bit less commotion." He grinned wryly at Sam, who'd replaced the firewood and now sat staring at him from across his beer. "Well, if you go lookin' like breakin' somebody's neck..." Sam stopped and his face suddenly cleared. "I reckon I remember you now. Mr. Bilbo used to chat with you when we come up this way. But I never knew your name." 

"But I know yours, Sam Gamgee. I take my business down there to Hobbiton every now and again and your Gaffer knows my name quite well, he does. But his Sam was always up at Bag End even then." 

Sam blushed and tucked his face behind his mug. 

"Now don't you go all hid on me, young bob." Perling chuckled softly, deep in his chest, then turned to Frodo and winked again. "And I know your name, Mr. Baggins. And I'm pleased to see you back in these parts again." 

Frodo knew that once upon a time, Perling's offhand familiarity might have offended him, but not now. There was something good in that face, something solid and kind. He felt Sam relax across the table. 

And then Perling spoke again, very softly, catching them both by surprise. "You're on a courtin' trip, aren't ya? No need for an aye or a nay, I can see the truth on your faces. And don't you be goin' up lit like a wizard cracker, young Sam. I may be an old 'un, but I know what I see. And I only see somethin' fine. I promised myself long ago, I'd watch for that and pay it my compliments." His eyes grew pensive as he studied some faraway memory, but then the wry smile was back. "If you don't have any objection, I'd like to tell you both a story. Maybe it'll help you see why I believe more in sweethearts than I do in keepin' my mouth shut." 

He leaned back in his chair, his wrinkled hands holding the mug close to his chest. "A long time ago, before Mr. Baggins here came of age, old Perling Puddleby had a sweetheart. Though, truth be known, I don't suppose she remembers that now." 

Frodo realized his mouth had dropped open and he snapped it shut. A glance at Sam showed him in the same fix. But Perling didn't seem to notice. 

"She was a pretty lass. Or maybe I should say 'handsome'. Strong and honest and willful and funny. Just a fine lass." He lifted his mug and took a long swallow. "Not another one like her." He set his mug down and chuckled. "It's odd she was, too. Why, once she reached that age where every young miss thinks of ribbons and posies and various bits and geegaws, she took to wearin' big bouquets of dandelion thistles or onion bulbs. Or even once, strips of her mama's old towels, sewed together like a big bright cape. She was a sight." 

Perling tilted his head and peered at Frodo. "If I'd 'a been one of them Brandybucks or even a Took, mind you, I could 'a married that lass and been set up with her still today. But family sometimes gets in the way 'a things and that's what mine did." He turned to look at Sam. "We'd hardly got to courtin' age when my parents figured out what I was gonna do. And they sent me off, here, there and round about, doin' business for my Dad. And everywhere I went, there was an uncle or a cousin or an old family friend, with a fair hand and a sweet word of advice to a young buck who aimed on goin' far in his life." He placed his hands on the table and spread his fingers wide. "Sweet words, kind words. Poison words. For they turned my eyes from that strong, honest lass and it took more years than I could afford to realize that." 

Sam was staring, his beer forgotten. 

Frodo felt there was one thing he must know. "But did you never tell her...?" 

"Oh, I had my chance." Perling shook his head and the wry grin was back. "Yes, indeed, I had my chance." 

"But you didn't..." 

"No. Them other voices sounded so wise, I figured I had all I needed. And no lass from... Well, no lass like that one could give me any more than what I had." 

Perling sat up, chuckling softly. "No, no. Don't come all sad for me, lads." The twinkle was back in his eye. "That's water long under the bridge and I've learned a hard lesson, but it's one I'll never forget. So you listen up..." He leaned forward and looked at them both, his expression grown harder than they'd yet seen. "You've got this thing sewed up tight, fair and square, and don't let nobody gainsay you, not when your heart's locked up and you've throwed the key in the Bywater." He laughed suddenly, quick and joyful. "Come on, lads, no tears for old Puddleby. Just keep my words and pass 'em along. If it's together you want to be, it's together you ought 'a stay and nobody has a say in that but yourselves." 

He smiled and his eyes grew bright and merry. "Now, you're good folks and good folks make for good times and good friends and good meals. I say we toast to that..." He lifted his mug. "...and to a long, happy life..." 

Sam lifted his mug, then looked Frodo directly in the eye. "...but no gabby relations or they'll eat on the stoop." 

But as Barrelknot chose that very moment to set a large tureen of winter stew on the table, he never did know if it was Mr. Baggins' name laid out in neatly sliced carrots, or something else entirely, that set the table to whooping. 

End.


End file.
